Tea
by randomrandom
Summary: Tea solves everything, even emotional!Rose.


Rose was sitting on her bed, staring into space. She would have looked, she imagined, like any other bored nineteen year old. Wasting time, sulking, in her bedroom, surrounded by discarded clothes and magazines and empty mugs. Anyone who was looking would imagine a mother somewhere below, cooking dinner, maybe a younger sibling or two watching some mindless cartoon on the telly.

But Rose was a million miles and a million years away from her mother, and if she opened the door of her room she'd emerge into a maze of metal and lights, and the strange sounds of the time travelling spaceship she called home. She'd walk into the console room to find the Doctor buried under a pile of tools and spare parts that she knew nothing about, humming a tune she had never heard. She wouldn't be met with a hug or a kiss or a cuppa, just if she was lucky a grunt or a wave of the hand as he worked on.

So she was sitting, leaning against the wall, legs up on the bed, hugging a pillow to her tightly, because that was the closest thing she was going to get to a human – humanoid – touch. She'd been there for hours, just pretending that her mum was going to burst in at any moment, nattering on about this or that, tutting loudly over the mess. The Doctor didn't care if she tidied her room or not, didn't care if she was fed-up or not, because none of that was his responsibility. Too domestic.

She closed her eyes as hot tears spilled down her cheeks and fell forlornly into the pillow.

The Doctor was happily tinkering away at his ship when he heard a strange, strangled sort of squeak, and something pink blurred past him, narrowly avoided hitting the chair that he had left in the middle of the floor because he hadn't been able to think of anywhere else to put it, and disappeared out of the doors of the TARDIS.

He scratched his head. Well, there was nothing pink on this ship except for Rose. He'd noticed that she wore an awful lot of it. He was glad, he thought to himself as he stood and began to put his tools away, that they were safely parked somewhere.

He stood uselessly in the middle of the room, wondering what he ought to do. She'd seemed upset, and on reflection she'd been quiet all day. But if she'd gone outside, wouldn't that suggest that she wanted to be alone? But then, she was alone in her room, he reasoned, so if she'd gone past him 'to be alone,' surely that meant that she wanted him to _know _she was upset. Unless she'd just wanted some air.

But she was upset and that seemed to produce a funny, tight sort of ache around his hearts. He had to find out what she was upset about so he could make it better; that was all.

He walked cautiously up to the doors and listened. She was either being very quite, or she wasn't there anymore. He absently looked at an empty mug that was sitting on the floor as he pondered the problem. Then he actually looked at the empty mug as it dawned on him. Always when she was tired or worried about something, she made tea. It was what humans did!

"Fantastic," he said to himself as he headed off towards the kitchen.

Rose had contemplated running away, which was really what she felt like doing. She felt like running until she couldn't run any more, until there was no breath left in her.

But then she'd heard her mum's voice in her head, saying, "Oh, you're just hormonal love. Soon pass. Cuppa?" and she smiled and walked round the back of the TARDIS and sat down on the ground, leaning against the familiar blue wall.

She closed her eyes as a light breeze floated around her. Maybe she should just go and get pissed; that would be another of mum's suggestions. She smirked as she considered this. The Doctor made a very good drinking companion; Rose could usually drink him under the table.

She just needed to figure out why she felt so wretched, and then she could fix it. That was the logical approach. She sighed. Trouble with that was she already knew why she felt like this. She was lonely. She hadn't had an intelligent conversation with anyone other than the Doctor for weeks, and she wasn't quite so happy with her own company as the Doctor seemed to be with his. Well, he had his ship to keep him company, didn't he? And his books.

Maybe it was just because she was thinking about him, but at that moment she felt something shift in the air, and turned her head to see him watching her, a troubled look on his face and a mug of tea in each hand.

Wordlessly, he came and sat next to her, setting the tea down on the ground just in front of them. He took her hand, staring ahead as she was doing.

"What's up?"

"Nothing."

He turned to look at her, hurt.

"Don't lie to me, Rose."

She opened her mouth to reply, only now the tears were starting to fall again and she felt so stupid, because she hated to cry in front of him. It felt like a weakness, and it was one that she didn't want him to see.

He reached out and placed his hand over her cheek, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were sympathetic, but there was something else there too, something that held her gaze firmly.

"Rose…"

She hiccoughed.

"I don't know," she admitted, "I don't know what's wrong I just…"

"Just what?" he stroked her hair gently. She looked away.

"Feel lonely. Really lonely, or homesick or… something," she finished lamely.

Looking back into his eyes, the sympathy was gone. Now he just looked hurt again.

"Do you want to go home?"

She shook her head, realising that the thought of leaving him and going home just made her feel worse.

"But I'm not enough," he muttered under his breath, frowning, as though he was working out some complicated maths problem.

"Oh no, that's not it at all!" her eyes were wide. "You mustn't think that. It's more… I mean, I feel like I'm in the way, if anything."

He shook his head incredulously.

"In the way? Oh Rose, that couldn't be further from the truth. I love… having you here." He paused. "Please don't be sad."

Suddenly they were very close, and Rose realised she was holding her breath. She let it out shakily.

And the Doctor was finding it very hard to drag his gaze away from her lips, for some reason… but she was almost smiling now, so…

"I mean, you're like my best friend," he offered.

She tilted her head a fraction.

"Best friends?"

He nodded, and swallowed, because for some reason his throat felt dry. They were even closer now.

"Just friends?"

His "yes," was lost as their mouths met and all sensible thoughts disappeared. The tea was forgotten. Everything else was forgotten as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, and she slid onto his lap and they found that they were a perfect fit.

She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the familiar and unique scent of him, all musky and spicy and _him._

Then she grinned.

"Thanks for the tea."


End file.
